


As it should 221B

by PlainJane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: Sherlock (TV) Unaired Pilot, Love at First Sight, M/M, Male Slash, happy endings, pilotverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-02 02:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10207142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlainJane/pseuds/PlainJane
Summary: A series of tumblr ficlets (all posted under After the Pilot) imagining what happened after the end of the unaired pilot, gathered here for ease of access. Just a little happy-making exercise. No angst. All the love.





	1. Starving

“How are the umm…”

“Shanghai noodles. Good. How’s the pork?”

“Oh. It’s excellent. My favourite dish. I always have it here.” Sherlock turned sideways in his plastic chair and crossed his legs, twiddling his fork between thumb and forefinger. “So listen…”

John glanced up, still chewing his last bite. Sherlock stared into his new flatmate’s midnight blue eyes (with an unusual colour in the centre–was it gold or grey?) and lost his train of thought. He watched, mesmerized, as John ate. Why was the simple act of consuming noodles suddenly the most erotic thing he’d ever seen?

John smiled finally and dropped his gaze. He stirred his noodles around the plate. “You were going to ask me something,” he said softly.

Sherlock frowned. He was, wasn’t he? But what–oh, yes. “Right. I just thought I should ask, given everything that’s happened, if you are still planning to stay.”

“Stay?” John’s head came up again and their eyes met.

Sherlock’s mouth went dry. “S-stay. You know, at the flat.” He liked his lips, keenly aware of how Dr. Watson’s eyes tracked the movement.

“Oh, I’m staying,” John replied, his voice husky.

“Not put off by the murderers or the coppers?”

“Not yet.”

“Or by–”

“Yes?”

“By me?” This last was a little quieter. Sherlock hadn’t really intended to expose his underbelly quite this early on, but John was different. He needed to be sure.

John looked puzzled for a moment before his expression cleared. At that moment, comprehension lit his handsome face and he beamed at Sherlock.

“I don’t know how I’ve not managed to make this obvious, but I think you are fascinating.”

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand, only just managing to avoid sending his fork skittering across the ancient red lino.

“I’ve had an amazing time since we met,” John continued. “It’s the first time I’ve felt ‘right’ since I came back.”

Sherlock blinked several times, suddenly feeling completely at sea. “Oh?” he managed.

“Hmmm, ” John replied, nodding. “So yeah, I’d like to stay, if the offer stands.”

“Of course it does!” Sherlock blurted.

John chuckled and Sherlock could feel his cheeks getting warm.

“That’s good then,” John said with a cocky grin. He looked down at Sherlock’s nearly empty plate. “If you’re just about done…”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t we head back and revisit those sleeping arrangements?”

“God, yes.”


	2. Trouble

The walk back to 221B was awkward. Sherlock couldn’t resist sneaking glances at John, but his new flatmate (just flatmate?) was studiously ignoring him. With his hands stuffed into the pockets of his bomber jacket, John Watson looked as though he hadn’t a care in the world as he strode on, eyes focused ahead. Almost as though he hadn’t just killed a man to save Sherlock’s life. Or propositioned him in a Chinese restaurant.

Sherlock suppressed a shiver at the thought. John has saved his life. John had run after him, watched over him and shot someone to protect him. And now he wanted… Sherlock snuck another look, still not entirely sure he hadn’t dreamed the man into existence. 

“It’s a…nice night,” he tried. Small talk wasn’t really his area either, but he was feeling a little desperate to hear the sound of John’s voice again. Ordinarily, silence would suit him down to the ground. Not tonight.

John smiled, still not looking at him. “As nights go, I suppose. I’m not really an expert.”

Sherlock scowled. Well, that couldn’t be right, could it? Shouldn’t John be saying something romantic or sexy? Wasn’t that what people did in these situations? 

“But…?”

“Sherlock, let’s just get on, all right?”

Sherlock huffed irritably and came to a complete stop. “Look, if you’ve changed your mind–”

John had taken a couple of extra steps. He turned and walked back to where Sherlock stood, glancing around them. Finally, he stopped, nearly toe-to-toe with Sherlock, and looked up at him.

“Listen,” he started, his voice soft and a bit rough. “We can’t do this here. Do you understand? We need to get somewhere private, yeah?” 

John waited for a moment, staring expectantly at him. Sherlock shrugged, completely unable to sort out what John was getting at. 

John shook his head, chuckling softly.

“Oh my god, you are one of a kind,” he muttered. Leaning in a little more, he went on. “I’m trying not to look at you, or invite you to say anything to me in that sexy, posh voice of yours. Thing is, I’m not sure I’m going to get home without embarrassing myself.” John raised his eyebrows, before dipping his chin to indicate that Sherlock should glance down between them at…

“Oh!” Sherlock breathed. He blinked a few times before sneaking a peek. 

John was noticeably hard. And–if the outline in his jeans was anything to go by–HUGE. 

“ _Oh._ ”

“Jesus, stop saying that word like that,” John begged, gritting his teeth. He shifted on his feet a little, obviously trying to get a little more comfortable. “You sound like someone is sucking your cock.”

Sherlock made what could only be described as something of a squeaking noise in the back of his throat. 

John licked his lips, glancing around them once more. Sherlock followed his gaze. There weren’t many people about, but there were _some_. 

John turned, taking one hand out of his pocket to grab Sherlock’s hand. He tugged gently.

“Come on, Trouble,” he said, propelling them back down the pavement. “Let’s get home before one of us comes in our pants.”


	3. Anticipation

Sherlock could sense John bouncing on the balls of his feet behind him. Not that Sherlock was surprised. John had practically dragged him the last few metres to their doorstep.

 _Their_ doorstep. That sounded…good. 

Sherlock turned the key in the latch and pushed the glossy black door open, fulling expecting to see Mrs Hudson.

“Will she be in bed, do you think?” John asked in hushed tones, pushing into the small vestibule right behind Sherlock. 

Oh, yes. The time.

“Most likely,” Sherlock replied, matching John’s volume.

John closed the outer door gently and followed Sherlock in and up the stairs. As they neared the flat, Sherlock’s mind fired up with the reality of what they were about to do. Or what he was pretty sure they were about to do. It was momentous, at least for his part.

“Hey, slow coach.” John prodded Sherlock gently in the small of his back. 

Sherlock realized he’d almost come to a stop in the middle of the second flight of stairs. ”Sorry. Right, yes.” 

He took the last few steps two at a time and rushed headlong into the sitting room. He spun in the centre of the room so he could watch John entering. 

Dr. Watson strolled in after him, reaching to undo his jacket. He pulled it off slowly, never breaking eye contact with Sherlock, and tossed it onto the sofa. He braced his hands on his hips.

“So,” he began.

“So,” Sherlock repeated.

“I guess we stayed away long enough and the CID got everything they needed,” John said, glancing about the room. “Though it wouldn’t have killed them to straighten up.”

Sherlock looked around at the remnants of the earlier excitement. The tape and evidence tags were gone, but the furniture was still knocked over and blood stains remained on the floor. At least someone had thought to tape over the bullet hole in the window. 

“She’ll put that on my rent,” Sherlock mumbled, more to himself than to John.

“I suppose I could be persuaded to chip in for it.”

Sherlock startled, turning back to find that John was now standing right in front of him. “Oh. Well, you don’t have–”

John was smiling up at him. “I’m really not bothered.”

“But the money…”

“I’ll find a way. It’s worth it.”

“What is?”

“Knowing that you’re all right.”

“But why…”

“Why, what?”

Sherlock swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. “You know, you _have_ only just met me. And I’m not exactly easy to get on with.”

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Why _are_ you still here?”

John was moving now, unbuttoning Sherlock’s coat and shoving it off his shoulders. Sherlock neither helped nor hindered this casual removal of his clothes, searching John’s face as the man worked.

“I thought I was very clear about that,” John teased.

“Yes, but…”

“Sherlock, I like you.” John tugged at Sherlock’s suit jacket until Sherlock shrugged out of it, and then set to work on the buttons of his shirt. “I know that seems strange, given how we met and how recently. It’s strange to me, too. I don’t usually…that is…I don’t take to people easily. Never have. But you are different. I can’t explain to you how I know, but I just do.”

“Know what?” Sherlock’s voice trembled as the backs of John’s knuckles brushed over the warm skin of his belly.

“I think,” John began, “I think that it’s very possible that I might need you.“

“Need?”

John nodded, his gaze lingering on the small strip of skin that was bared with Sherlock’s buttons all undone. “I told you earlier that this is the most ‘right’ I have felt since coming back. I need who you are. What you do. It’s where I’m meant to be.”

“ _Oh_.”

John chuckled. “There you go again. My god, you are sexy. And you are going the right way to get shagged.”

Sherlock swallowed again. Perhaps sensing his reservation, John studied him for a moment.

“As long as–I mean earlier, when you said that you…don’t do anything. Are you–do you want–?”

“I don’t. Usually. I mean, I haven’t. Before. Not really. Never wanted to.”

“And now?”

“Oh, god, John. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.”

John beamed, his eyes soft. “I’m glad.’ he placed one hand on Sherlock’s waist. “Come here,” he whispered.

John’s other hand flattened over Sherlock’s chest under his parted shirt and then slid up along the length of his neck to cup his nape gently. Sherlock responded to the light pressure and eased down toward John. He watched with fascination as John licked his lips, and he did likewise. His heart fluttered a bit as John drew him in, and he felt as though he should close his eyes. But he didn’t want to miss a moment of the passion in John’s eyes. Passion for _him_.

The touch of John’s lips against his own was firm, but gentle. Sherlock relaxed into the kiss, happy to allow John to lead. John pulled him in close until their bodies were touching, his strong hand tightening at Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock melted into the insistent softness of John’s kiss. 

John’s lips were thinner than Sherlock’s, but they were warm and so certain and they slotted so pleasantly together against Sherlock’s mouth. John teased and tasted, each tender nudge urging Sherlock to part for him, to open up and let him in. And Sherlock did.

When they finally drew apart a few minutes later, Sherlock was panting and weak-kneed.

“Now, then,” John breathed. “Since we won’t be needing two rooms, why don’t you show me where we’ll be sleeping?”


	4. Carrying on

The journey to Sherlock’s bedroom was a short one. Nevertheless, he stumbled over his own long feet at least twice. John had hold of Sherlock’s waist and kept turning him for teasing little kisses as they walked. John was making such wonderful rumbly sounds–a sort of growling noise deep in his throat. Sherlock wasn’t sure how long he would last at this rate.

Finally, they burst through the half-open door, hands groping and mouths still–remarkably–connected. John kisses became more insistent as he edged Sherlock back toward the bed. It wasn’t made. Sherlock hadn’t bothered this morning (he rarely did) and clearly Mrs. Hudson hadn’t had the opportunity…

“Hey.”

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked down into John’s face.

“Thought I lost you there for a moment,” John said softly. He had both arms looped around Sherlock’s body, and his fingers stroked soothingly over Sherlock’s back.

“Sorry. Was I not–?”

“You’re fine. I just felt like maybe you were changing your mind.”

“No. I…no. I just get a little lost sometimes. In my head.”

“I can imagine you would, with everything that’s going on up there.” John leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the base of Sherlock’s long neck. He nuzzled there. “What were you thinking about?”

Sherlock had tilted his chin up, not wanting to impede John’s tender exploration. “Just…about the bed. Being messy. And my experiment in the kitchen. And whether I might have condoms or anything. Also what the cabbie said earlier–”

“Are you sure you’re–”

“And your penis,” Sherlock finished confidently.

John pulled back and blinked at him. “Oh. Well, then.”

“Yes. Quite.” Sherlock cleared his throat and tried to look sure of himself. “Carry on.”

John smirked. It was _wicked_. “Yes, sir.” 

John captured Sherlock’s mouth with a groan. Sherlock opened for him instantly, welcoming John’s tongue with his own. The kisses were desperate and wet.

John’s hands were everywhere. Sherlock’s unbuttoned shirt had disappeared, as had John’s. Their shoes were gone, but Sherlock was perfectly fine with not fussing about their socks. Their kisses broke only long enough for John to struggle out his vest and trousers. Sherlock started to unbutton his jeans, but John grasped his hands.

“Let me. Please.” John searched his face. “I’ve been fantasizing about what’s inside these tight denims all night long.”

Sherlock nodded, his mouth dry. He let John move him until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sat heavily and looked up at John.

John settled himself between Sherlock’s parted knees and cupped Sherlock’s jaw in both hands. “My god, you are beautiful. Like something out of a painting.”

“I’m not.”

“You really are. Anyone who ever told you different was lying to you.” John kissed him tenderly, as though savouring every moment of contact. “Lie back for me,” he whispered.

Sherlock complied, arms by his sides while John leaned in over him and begun to unbutton his flies. In moments, his jeans were being tugged over his hips. Somehow John had managed to catch his pants as well…

“WAIT!”

John stopped immediately, looking horrified. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I–can I not be naked first?” Sherlock muttered.

The tension in John’s face eased instantly. “Yeah. ‘Course. Here…” He reached down and unceremoniously wiggled out of his snug red y-fronts. “There we are. Better?”

Sherlock nodded, unable to take his eyes away from John’s erection. 

“Is it anything like you imagined?” John teased.

“Bigger,” Sherlock breathed.

John snickered as he returned his attention to working Sherlock’s trousers and pants off. He trailed kisses over exposed skin as he did: belly, hip, thigh. When he finally tugged them off, he paused to regard Sherlock’s body and gave a low wolf whistle.

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock complained.

“Sorry, Trouble, but you are just so lovely, and I am having a hard time believing this is real. Just look at you…”

John dragged both hands up and over Sherlock’s thighs and hips before trailing one fingertip over Sherlock’s hard prick. 

“Oh, god…”

“Yeah?”

“John…”

“Been awhile, has it?”

“Y-yes…mmm….I need…”

“Say please.”

“PLEASE!” Sherlock reached for him, desperate to feel John’s body against him. He grasped biceps and tugged until John was sprawled over him and kissing him. _Yes, please, kissing…_

John moaned into Sherlock’s mouth as he began to move. The delicious friction between them gave stimulation in all the right places and it wasn’t long before Sherlock’s long-overdue orgasm began to crest.

“John, I…”

“Sh. S’okay,” John panted, thrusting shallowly against Sherlock’s body. “Let it happen. Let it happen…I’m here.”

“J-John…I…oh GOD!” 

Sherlock tensed as his came, fingers digging into John’s body to hold him snug. He closed his eyes to savour the waves of pleasure coursing through him, until John joined him moments later.

“Oh, fuck, yes!” John groaned, bucking hard into Sherlock and dropping his forehead against Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock could feel sleep approaching, and he knew that neither of them were exactly comfortable (or wouldn’t be for long), but he was far too content to care.

“Feels so good,” he mumbled, snuffling John’s hair.

“Yeah, it bloody does,” John agreed. He kissed Sherlock’s cheek. “Sleep, love. I’ll take care of you.”


	5. Morning cuddles

Sherlock woke with a start. Something was wrong. He sat up abruptly, heart racing, and peered into the early morning dark of his bedroom. It was his bedroom, but…

He swivelled to his right and took a sharp breath.

_John. Dr. John Watson._

Sherlock stared at his new flatmate. New—well, he wasn’t sure exactly what to call him. Bedmate would do, for now, probably.

John was stretched out beside him, lying flat on his back, with the covers tucked neatly under his right arm and pulled over his left. His head was tipped slightly in Sherlock’s direction and his mouth was open a fraction. He wasn’t snoring, but there was a little whistling noise as he breathed in sleep. It was disturbingly adorable.

Sherlock glanced down. He was naked. So he hadn’t imagined that part. And…

He lifted the covers where they had pooled in his lap. No, no sticky traces. True to his word, John had cleaned him up after their frotting session. Sherlock licked his lips and tamped down on the warmth that threatened at the sense memory of John’s cock against his own.

He shifted and slid back down to the mattress, careful not to disturb John. He lay on his side and propped one arm under his head so he could study the man in his bed.

John mumbled something in his sleep and them smacked his lips.

“How am I going to concentrate with you around, hmmm?” Sherlock whispered, smiling to himself.

“Mmmmmm, dunno,” John rumbled, clearly still groggy. “But can you concentrate more quietly?”

“Sorry,” Sherlock said swiftly. “I didn’t mean—”

“S’okay.” John smiled, still not opening his eyes. “Just not quite so early, maybe.”

Sherlock settled and wiggled a little closer to John’s body. John seemed to approve; his left arm appeared from beneath the covers and he reached out to draw Sherlock into his side.

“Mmmmmmmm, feels good.”

Sherlock relaxed into Johns body, giving in to the impulse to place his head on John’s shoulder. John’s arm curled around him and dug into his hair. Sherlock’s toes curled and he bit his lip on a moan of pure pleasure.

“Like that, do you?”

“Oh, god…”

“Sensitive scalp,” John said gently. “Check.” He dragged his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and turned to kiss his forehead.

Sherlock wrapped his free arm around John’s waist and held on. Eyes drooping, he surrendered to the feel of John’s hand in his hair.

“It’s curly, isn’t it?”

“Wh-what?”

“Your hair?” John repeated, pressing another kiss into Sherlock’s brow. “You keep it all brushed down, but it’s curly, isn’t it?”

“Yessssss.”

“Bet it’s lovely like that.” John’s fingers stilled and he cupped the back of Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock sighed contentedly. “Got teased for it,” he mumbled into John’s bare chest. “Said I looked like a girl.”

“Let me guess: Public school boys?”

“Yup.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with it, as those idiot boys would know if they had any brains at all between them, but you, Trouble, are not girly.”

“No?” Sherlock stroked over John’s belly.

“No. I love your long, hairy legs. And your chest, with those dark tufts, makes me drool. Are your nipples sensitive?”

“I—”

“Never mind. I look forward to finding out.”

Sherlock’s already-interested body plumped a little more. “Me, too.”

“And that tight little bum of yours is very distracting.”

“John…”

“Sorry, sorry. Don’t get turned on just yet. I need to piss. And clean my teeth.” John yawned and stretched. “Maybe a cup of tea.”

“John, how did you know I didn’t mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That I wasn’t interested in…anything. That everything was transport.”

“Ah, that. I didn’t know. I hoped.”

“Hoped.”

“Yeah. And then when you smiled at me, after the cabbie, I thought maybe I just might be in.”

Sherlock snickered. “Good guess. I admit it: I was…smitten. What you did for me. You _saved_ me.”

“Guess I did. Not that I want to have to go around shooting serial killers on a regular basis, but it seems to me you might need saving from time to time.”

“Possibly,” Sherlock hedged. “Though _I think_ you might just need to do some saving. From time to time.”

John nuzzled the top of Sherlock’s head. “I’ve never been very good at being a civilian.”

Sherlock stretched and sat up. “Now you don’t have to be. Tea?”

“Love some.” John smiled up at him, twining their fingers together. “Thank you.”

Sherlock raised a brow. Clearly the thanks were for more than the tea. He dropped a quick kiss on John’s mouth and threw the covers back. He dragged a dressing gown over his shoulders and reached for a second to throw in John’s direction.

“And Sherlock?”

Sherlock hesitated in the doorway and turned to look back at John, now standing bare-arsed beside the bed, dressing gown in hand. 

Sherlock swallowed hard. “Y-yes?”

“If you should ever decide to wear it that way, I’m sure curly hair would be gorgeous on you.”


	6. Tea for two

"This place really does have a lot of...charm," John remarked without rancour. He settled into one of the chairs by the fire—the Scandinavian modern knock-off he had chosen when he first arrived—and gave the sitting room another once over.

"Mrs. Hudson is very sentimental about the Victorian period, for some reason. That tends to bleed into her choices in décor."

Sherlock paused in the kitchen, dug a kettle out from behind one of the file boxes by the window and switched it on. He padded out into the sitting room and stopped before the wing-back chair across from John.

"Not a time I'd want to revisit," John chuckled. "As a doctor, when I think of the Victorian period, I think typhus, cholera and TB."

Sherlock shuffled his chair around until it was completely facing John’s chair. He dropped heavily into the seat, stretched his legs out and flipped the long edges of his dressing gown over his thighs.

"And syphilis."

"That, too."

"Of course, there were also advances," Sherlock mused, with a hand wave. "Anaesthesia, smallpox vaccine, germ theory..."

"True enough. What do you think of?"

"The 19th century? Doppler, Mendel, Mendeleev, Gibbs." Sherlock grew somber. "Wilde."

John's brow creased. "Yeah. Yeah, that was definitely not good."

"Definitely not."

"Good thing we don't have to worry about that anymore." The kettle snapped off and John rose to go to the kitchen.

"Don't we?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "Not prosecution, anyway." He looked down at the cupboards before him. “Mugs?

“On the left. Spoons are in the box beside the sink.”

John grabbed two spoons and set out two mugs. With a quick glance to ensure they were clean, he dropped in teabags from the open tin on top of the microwave. He stepped over to the window and poured in the hot water. “You won’t be doing much cooking in here, will you?”

“No. Problem?”

“Not insurmountable. We’ll figure something out. Sugar?”

“Uhm…”

“Never mind,” John chuckled. “So we don’t have to worry about the Vice Squad barging in…”

"Well, no, but…" Sherlock trailed off with a pained expression.

John strode back into the room with both mugs. "But, what? Homophobia? Bigots? Conservative politicians?"

"Well, yes," Sherlock replied, taking the offered mug and giving it a stir with the included spoon.

"Not much we can do about that." John sat and crossed his legs. He smiled at Sherlock as he stirred his own tea.

Sherlock hesitated, nodding as he stared at the mug in his hands.

"Something worrying you?" John asked gently. "Is it about last night?"

"In a way."

"Can you tell me?"

"It's just—have you dated a man before?"

"Yes," John answered candidly. "Have you?"

"Sort of."

"Are you worried about being out?"

"Are you?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Look, Sherlock, nothing is ever simple. Or easy, necessarily. But if you are asking if I’m worried about people finding out about us the answer is no." John used the spoon to remove the teabag from his mug and took a sip of tea. "If anything, I'm a little worried about people finding out that it happened so fast."

Sherlock cocked his head. "Fast?"

"Well, you have to admit, I was trying to chat you up the day after we met."

"That's fast?"

"Not so much the chatting up, but the moving in and going straight to...this." John waved a hand between them with a grin.

"Oh," Sherlock breathed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can tell people I seduced you."

"Then I'm easy."

"Drugged you?"

"Noooo."

"No, right. Not good."

"Definitely not good."

"Is it _really_ so strange for people to sleep together straight away?"

"No. It's just not that common for it to be the start of a long-term relationship."

Sherlock blinked. And blinked again, mouth slightly agape. He lost track of time, only really coming back to himself at the sound of John's voice.

"Oi, are you still in there? You're worrying me a bit, honey."

"Long-term...?"

John sat back in his chair, looking relieved. "Oh, that's what did it. Right. Yes. Long-term. Is that...okay?"

Sherlock let out a gusty breath. "Yes?"

"Is that a question?"

"I don't know?"

"Do you want to have a relationship with me?"

"Yes."

"Romantically?"

"Yes."

"For a while?"

"As long as you'll stay."

John beamed at him. "Me, too. So that's settled."

Sherlock's grinned, for the second time in two days, at the sight of John's smiling face. A light, fluffy feeling settled in his insides as he settled back to drink his tea. He stuck one long foot out and rubbed it against John's calf.

"Honey?" he asked, brows furrowed.

"You're very sweet," John purred, winking.

"I'm really not," Sherlock giggled.

"You are to me.”

Sherlock snorted. “You won’t think so for long.”

“Well, maybe once we’ve had our tea—and a slice or two of toast—we can retire to the bedroom and you can do your best to keep me convinced.”

"God, yes."


End file.
